


The Devil's Own

by lilyconrad



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, obikin, regency au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-24 01:43:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13800726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyconrad/pseuds/lilyconrad
Summary: Some whisper the Skywalker family is the devil’s own, and no tutors in the area will take on the orphaned Lord, a young man famous for his excessive drinking, riding, and dueling. The townspeople shake their heads at the arrival of the latest tutor, a London scholar out of money and other options, wondering how long it will be before this Kenobi is run out like all the rest.





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday, @vulpesarctica! Let the madness begin... :D I hope you enjoy!

The evening rains sweeping the countryside lasted just long enough for the clouds to veil the sunset, night coming on in a slowly dimming grey laced in chilly fog rather than any beautiful descent of blazing color. As the rain beat against the windows of a small inn in a town of equal size, a newcomer hurried in from the cold, his well-made and well-worn great coat and single bag suggesting he had arrived on the mail coach that passed through once a day. 

By the time the world sank to black, leaving the man’s face reflected in the glass panes he sat near, he had eaten a hot dinner much appreciated after his long journey from London and started to wonder if he had misunderstood the date he was supposed to arrive.  _ The seventh of February, early evening, the Baron’s letter said. I am sure of it.  _

He was tired and ready to get the day over with, eager to meet and exchange opening pleasantries with his new employer, but there was no clatter of a carriage outside and no message brought to his table as he nursed a glass of port.  _ This is the inn I was told to go to.  _

_ I suppose I shall have to inquire about a room if much more time passes. _

To the staff, however, there was no sign of concern from the newcomer. Instead they noted a dignity to his movements, a certain calm that identified him as a military man well before a pair of the local gentlemen who came in traded friendly greetings with him and discovered he had been in the army.

“A pleasure to meet you, Captain Kenobi. What brings you to our village?” the older one asked as the Captain motioned to the servants for chairs to be pulled up, the two locals curious as to what business he could have in town: no one they knew of had any relatives by the name of Kenobi, alive or dead. 

“I hope it is not pleasure. I fear,” the younger added, “that there is little of interest here beyond the usual half-hearted distractions and amusements of a place just far enough from London as to seem a thousand miles removed.”

“All places in this world have their own unique charms if one looks with a thoughtful eye, I believe. I hope to discover this area’s own given time and opportunity. As to what has brought me to you, I have been employed to tutor young Lord Skywalker,” the captain said with a polite smile and more eloquence than the two had initially assumed he might possess. “Now that his illness has abated enough to permit the continuance of formal education without undue stress upon his health.”

The younger gentleman stroked the front of his coat’s lapels for a moment before speaking as plates and cutlery were laid out before him, clearly caught between several different emotions not as easily smoothed as the wool of his coat. “Ah, yes, his... illness.”

“If I may be so forward as to ask, sirs, is it particularly grave? I received no details of it in my letter of employment.”

The gentleman studied the roasted pork the maid was sitting down in front of them, choosing his words with obvious care. “You seem like a solid man, a good man, and you remind me of my dear uncle, lost in the field not so long ago. So I will say this to you, Captain Kenobi.” 

He leaned forward, lowering his voice as he picked up his knife and fork. “Good luck, sir. And while I do most strenuously hope to find you in this fine establishment again someday soon, a man can hope many things without any justifiable reason to expect their fulfillment.”

The Captain’s expression remained impassive, but one eyebrow lifted just enough to show that was not what he had expected to hear about his new charge. Before he could inquire any further, however, the serving man was at his side with a bow. “Captain, your horse and guide have arrived from Sennewin Manor.”

Taking his leave of the the pair with handshakes and promises to come visit them at their homes at his soonest convenience, the Captain strode out, the last thing the gentlemen heard a very mild question about “... a horse and not a carriage?”

The pair traded glances with each other, and only when the serving man had returned, indicating the front door was shut and the newcomer on his way, did the older man tap his finger on the table as if pronouncing a law. “A fortnight.”

“I see no reason why he might not make it at least a month,” the younger man said with a measure of hope as he took a glass of wine and tucked into the dishes set before them. “He is of the military.”

 

* * *

“Captain Kenobi?” 

“Yes.”

“Leti of Sennewin Manor. Pleasure to meet you, sir,” his guide mumbled through his scarf with a decided lack of said pleasure. 

Outside, the street was cold and gloomy save the light spilling out from a few windows around them. The storm had passed on, leaving the road wet and damp and the moon crisp overhead, and as Ben Kenobi buttoned his great coat up and pulled his top hat on he studied the odd scene before him with an impassive face.

The servant from the Sennewin estate was a man younger than him, tall and lean and utterly at ease despite his incredibly late arrival. He stood between the two horses he had come with, both sets of reins in hand, and gave a muffled, nonchalant apology about the manor’s carriage breaking a wheel without making any motion to pull down the scarf wrapped tightly around his face. Only his pale eyes showed, the glow from the inn’s windows hinting they would be blue in daylight.

“Such things happen,” Ben answered magnanimously, glad to finally be on his way. He tugged on his gloves and pushed his small bag to hang behind him as he looked at the horses. “Did my luggage arrive yesterday? I had it sent it ahead.”

“Yes, sir,” the servant answered after a moment of thought, and handed him the reins of the dark grey horse on his right. The horse turned and nuzzled against the young man, but he gently pushed him away. “You’ll ride this one.”

Ben noted the horse’s high tail and annoyed stamp as he accepted the reins, and glanced over at its far more relaxed chestnut friend. “Are you sure that one would not be better for me? This one seems to prefer you, Leti.”

“Yes, sir,” Leti said, nodding and turning back to the other horse, leaving Ben with the oddest feeling Leti was smiling under his scarf. “Angel of a horse, Aether is. Most patient one we have,” he added over his shoulder.

“Aether, hmm?” Ben said, his question low and calm as he slowly offered his hand to the horse while keeping his gaze on Leti. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Aether.”

Aether sniffed his hand and stamped again, turning back to Leti, who was now mounted and turning his horse around to face them.

“As late as it is, we should set off as soon as possible, sir,” Leti said with a hint of impatience, nodding toward the road winding out into the shadows of the countryside.

“A little longer, please. I find it important to be as polite to steeds as one is to humans, Leti,” Ben said in the same soothing tone, giving Aether gentle scratches along his neck. His words came out in soft puffs of silver that dissipated into the night air. “What do you say, Aether? Would you mind taking me to Sennewin Manor, hmm? I am aware that I just arrived but I think I could find some sort of treat for you at a later date if you would be so kind as to conduct me there.”

Aether snorted and continued to fidget as Ben murmured, but once Ben felt confident enough that the horse’s energy was more excitement to get going than anxiety at his presence he carefully lifted his foot into the stirrup and slung himself up.

“Shall we?” he nodded to Leti, settling neatly into the saddle as Aether pranced around, hooves clacking against the square’s cobblestones.

“Yes, sir,” Leti muttered. He turned his horse and set off, a lithe shadow that, Ben noted with a raised eyebrow, didn’t bother looking back to see if his charge was keeping up as they cleared the modest buildings and entered the forest proper.

 

* * *

The nearly full moon cast enough light for them to ride at a steady, measured pace side by side through the darkness, and Ben found his mind turning to the task soon at hand and the concern of his dinner companion. “Would you be so kind as to tell me about the Lord Skywalker, Leti?”

Leti peered silently at him for a long moment before turning his attention back to the damp dirt road. “What have you heard?”

“Of his personality and comportment, nothing, I’m afraid. Only that he was seriously ill for a prolonged period.”

“Huh.” Leti mulled his reply for some time before answering, the silhouettes of trees passing in waves of silver and blue as he did. “Well, you should know the whole family is cursed.”

“Cursed?” Ben smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. “There is not a word I ever expected to hear outside of fairy tale books.”

“It’s true,” Leti muttered, his seriousness giving the desolate night around them a sharper chill than the weather alone. “Some people say the Lord is a devil child. Half-fairy, or half-demon.”

“That is a stark condemnation of one too young, I think, to have truly earned such words. As his serving man, what do you think of the Lord, Leti? Surely you know him better than most.”

The younger man shot him another cautious look from under his hat, eyes colorless in the gloom and floating above the scarf that hid the rest of his face. “In London, I reckon everything is neatly packaged, Captain. Parcels. Society. Even the parks. Everything and everyone has their own clear place and purpose. Right?”

Surprised as much by the servant’s astute summary of the city as he was by his directness, Ben nodded. “I suppose one could say that, yes.”

“This isn’t London, Captain.” Leti pointed back behind him. “Did you see that path that forked off on the right? The one we passed a while back?”

“Yes.”

“There are things in the forest, Captain. Things that don’t like the bright scrutiny of a city like London. But they like it here. The wild belongs to them, Captain. Places like this are theirs, not ours, no matter what we tell ourselves.” 

Leti crossed himself, black leather glove catching the moonlight in faint lines and the movement drawing Ben’s eye.  _ Handsome gloves. I suppose the Lord is generous, at least. _

“I’ve seen one of them,” Leti continued. “Came at me from that path back there one night I was out riding. A night like this one.”

Ben felt the hair rise on the back of his neck despite his instinct to snort at such an idea. Things that seemed utterly foolish in the daytime had a bit more weight on a lonely moonlit road. “Truly?”

“Yes, sir,” Leti said, dropping his voice to a whisper barely audible over the creak of leather and hoofbeats. “Thing chased me until the last rise before the manor. I couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but I got a chill and happened to look back and saw it come off the path onto the road. Tall, black shape. Started running after me. Kept pace with me all the way back like it was nothing, and I had Ae-- my horse at a gallop that last mile.”

Ben tilted his head with a frown, his unease forgotten.  _ He almost said “Aether”.  _

Leti’s eloquence, his annoyance with Ben, the fine cut of his gloves despite the simplicity of his great coat: it all came together in a rush of understanding for Ben as Leti went on, unaware of the new way Ben began to study him.

“Things happen around the Skywalker name, sir. Bad things. Things that wouldn’t make sense in London. To be completely honest, if I may, you’d be best to turn around before the Skywalker curse pulls you in, too. You could be back in London before you know it. I’ll tell the Lord you fell ill.”

“Thank you for your consideration, Leti,” Ben said, not allowing the jolt of his epiphany to show in his mild words. “You must be very concerned for me, Leti.”

“Yes, sir. Whether it’s fairies or the devil, you don’t want to be involved.”

Ben ran his hand over his beard, trying to hide the bemused smile growing there as he kept his tone as grave as Leti’s. “I see. Well, you know what they say where I grew up?”

“What’s that?”

“If you can name a fairy, you take away its power.”

“Is that so?” Leti asked, curious.

“I don’t know. Is it, Lord Skywalker?”

His guide froze in his saddle, pretty eyes wide, and let out a loud curse before snapping the reins and sending his horse racing off ahead. The sound of hooves pounding through dirt echoed long after the shadows on the path had swallowed both rider and steed, and Ben was left alone with far more concern about what lay ahead than what might be creeping up behind.

_ Is this what you meant when you described the Lord as “spirited”, Baron Palpatine?  _ he wondered, swaying in his saddle as Aether danced excitedly under him. 

“Come, Aether, let us see what I have got myself into,” he sighed in a cloud of crisp white, and gave the horse free rein to trot ahead into the night.


	2. Introductions

Tired and bemused, Ben barely registered the majestic sprawl of shadows and moonlight that was Sennewin Manor when the forest fell away to reveal the estate, the path shifting to wind across a grand lawn. The only thing that drew his eye was the yellow lantern light of the entrance and the two silhouettes standing in front it.

One was tall, thin, and clearly anxious, the movement of his head suggesting he was repeatedly looking back inside and then out toward Ben again. The other was short and stocky, leaned casually against the towering bulk of the doorframe until a frantic gesture from the taller one made him straighten up.

“May I be the first to welcome you to Sennewin Manor, Captain Kenobi!” the nervous man called out through the cold air, wringing his hands as he came down the steps to greet him in a flutter of coat tails. “I am Patrick Perceval Powell, humble butler of this estate. It is our most decided pleasure to have you with us and I do apologize if your horse was ill-tempered. There was… ah… an apparent... misunderstanding about which one you would be riding and I must truly extend my deepest apologies about any inconvenience you may have suffered in your journey here.”

Ben shook his head, determined not to let his annoyance with Powell’s employer show, and gave Aether a last gentle set of strokes along his neck before sliding out of the saddle to a snort of cautious approval from the horse. “Please think nothing of it. Aether was a delight.”

“Oh. I see,” Powell said, giving another worried glance back into the orange-lit entryway as Ben handed off the reins to the other man, a silent groomsman who had followed the butler down and led Aether away without comment.

“I will say I am glad to be here. It has been a long set of hours,” Ben admitted, removing his hat and gloves as he and Powell walked inside and into a grand and well-appointed hall that soared up into dim shadows far overhead.

“Oh, I can only imagine. Travel is simply the worst for the constitution, I believe. All of the jostling of carriages and the dampness of the weather, especially this time of year, and no matter how thick one’s coat is--”

Too relieved by the warm air washing over him from the hall’s massive fireplace and the softness of the rugs under his feet to find the butler’s aimless chatter anything but charming, Ben decided with a last spark of optimism to get the last of the day’s unpleasantness over with before bed. _It would not be good to leave things where they currently stand with young Skywalker. With any luck he will be satisfied with fooling me most of the way here and we can start over again in seriousness._

“Would Lord Skywalker perhaps still be awake this late in the evening? I was hoping, if at all possible, to introduce myself before I retired for the night.”

This brought a fresh look of concern from Powell, who seemed to be in constant, jittery motion as he took Ben’s things and handed them off to a quiet maid now following alongside them.

“Ah, yes. Yes, of course. Master Skywalker is indeed awake, and in the library, Captain Kenobi. I would be happy to show you there,” Powell said with a hopeful expression, giving the girl the heavy bulk of Ben’s great coat. “This way, if you please, Captain.”

“Thank you,” Ben nodded and fell in behind him, taking in the subtle displays of wealth almost lost in the shadows beyond the ring of candlelight they walked in. _Don’t get yourself into too much trouble your first night, Ben,_ he reminded himself. _He is simply a spoiled young man who attempted to have a laugh at the new tutor’s expense. Hardly a rare occurrence, I would think._

_How bad could he possibly be?_

 

* * *

 

The library was no less impressive than the hall, a huge swath of books and paintings circling the room in tasteful, muted colors almost lost to the dark of the late hour. The faint scent of greenhouse flowers arranged in vases gave a pleasant contrast to the gloom, and another mammoth fireplace gave off enough warmth to keep back the worst of the cold natural to such a large space.

A man stood before the flames, his back to the door and hands out to soak up the heat.

 _Hello, ‘Leti’,_ Ben thought, gaze dropping to a pair of fine black gloves flung on a side table as Powell hesitated before clearing his throat. The simple great coat was nowhere to be seen, but there was no mistaking the lithe lines of his errant guide through the forest.

“Ah, Master Skywalker, Captain Ben Kenobi has arrived from London.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Ben offered, stepping forward into the room with a bow.

Skywalker turned, and the rest of Ben’s greeting died away in his throat at the sight of those striking blue eyes now matched with fine features and a pretty mouth, all edged in the gold of the firelight.

 _He’s beautiful_ , Ben thought in stunned surprise, and then the lord opened his mouth.

“London, hmm?”

“Yes, sir,” Powell eagerly cut in from where he had moved to pour out brandy for the both of them from a small liquor cabinet. “He arrived from London just now. Terrible ride, I’m sure. The rough roads and the horrible weather and I’m sure there are even bandits still roaming the night, well, not here, of course, but somewhere along the route, it would just make sense--”

“The Baron said my tutor would come from London,” Skywalker said with the slightest hint of disapproval as he took his drink from Powell, who turned with an apologetic frown to Ben and offered him the second glass. “You’re not from London, are you?”

Ben felt his chin start to lift on instinct, and forced himself to remain utterly still. _Spoiled_ and _without manners._ “You are correct, sir. I am originally from Scotland.”

“I see,” Skywalker sighed, lifting his glass in a toast that felt more like a challenge than a greeting. “I suppose the Baron knows better than me in these matters. Welcome to my home, Captain Kenobi. For as long as you care to stay.”

Ben held up his own glass with an impassive tone that gave no hint of the sharp, icy spark of his temper flaring beneath the surface. “I am here to educate you, Lord Skywalker. It seems I will be here for some time.”

Skywalker narrowed his lovely blue eyes, but then his gaze darted just over Ben’s shoulder and he turned away with a snort instead.

Ben wondered what panicked face Powell was making behind him, and kept his own expression perfectly neutral as the two of them watched the fire and drank their brandy in stubborn, awkward silence.

When Powell began rambling on again, this time about the late hour and Ben’s room, Ben gratefully and politely excused himself to follow the butler. “Barring any plans you may already have in place, I thought we would begin lessons after breakfast tomorrow, sir. A good night to you.”

“Of course. And a good night to you,” Skywalker said, pouring himself another drink from the tray, waiting until the two other men had left before he gave a hint of a smile down at the decanter. “Right after breakfast. Of course.”

 

* * *

 

While his butler and servants helped the Captain settle in for the evening off in his own room, Anakin remained in the library.

He spent the next hour or so with a brandy in one hand and books in the other while the night outside deepened into the utter stillness of the early hours, first randomly rearranging the shelves to scatter the books he thought Kenobi might need and then turning every tome in the library around to rest with its pages out and spine against the wall.

The ones Anakin was currently reading or enjoyed the most were already stacked in piles in his bedroom, so it was no great loss to him, and he grinned as he stepped back to survey his handiwork: a wall of cream and tan paper rising all around him like strange banks of snow. _Good luck to you, Captain._

“Oh, Master Anakin,” came the long-suffering sigh of his butler from behind him.

“What? Fairies did it.” Anakin turned to him with an innocent expression and poured himself one last drink, finding the task a little harder to do than it had been an hour ago. “Looks like lessons will have to wait until the Captain can sort all this out. What a shame. Really.”

“May I suggest it is time to retire for the evening, sir?”

“You may, Three P.” Anakin downed the brandy and handed him the glass as he strolled out of the library, pleasantly drunk and feeling very satisfied with himself. “Nothing changes in my daily schedule. Do not disturb me before I rise on my own.”

“Of course, sir.”

 

* * *

 

Anakin wandered back to his bedroom, the fireplace there still burning high and bright despite the late hour and the curtains drawn against the frigid night outside. There was something delicious, almost sinful, about being so warm he didn’t need to bundle up in his own room, and during the winter his servants knew to keep feeding the fire until he went to bed.

In the dim light cast by the flames, he slowly began to strip down after closing the door, untangling his cravat and tossing it aside. He walked toward his bed, the length of white followed in short order by his jacket, shirt, stockings and pants. Down to his small clothes and still blissfully warm, Anakin gave a long, lazy stretch as he studied the modest, ankle-length nightshirt Three P had once again laid out atop the bed’s thick comforter.

“Never give up, do you?” Anakin shook his head and tossed the garment aside before he settled in with his customary nest of blankets and pillows, lost beneath layers of padded cotton and feather duvets.

With a final, tipsy yawn, he fell asleep to the quiet crackle of the fire and the heavenly softness of his bed, content and without a care in the world.

And awoke to a loud slam that sent him bolting upright, the covers falling from his bare chest and blue morning skies glaring from the windows across the room.

“Good morning,” a male voice said.

A male voice that was not his butler’s. It was polished enough to be Three P’s, but the tone was lower and calmer with a hint of a different accent.

Confused and startled, Anakin blinked and clenched his fists in the covers at the sight of a man standing over by his writing desk.

A thick Greek primer lay on the table, the apparent source of the noise, and the man folded his arms, looking at Anakin with a raised eyebrow as the sun caught the copper in the gold of his hair. From his clothing to his eyes he was handsome in a subtle way that intrigued Anakin, more like the cool water of a lake than any reflection dancing across it.

Anakin sat in simple awe of him for a moment before he remembered who he was, the amazement souring to anger.

 _Kenobi. The tutor from last night._ “You, you can’t just come in here!” he stuttered, yanking the blankets higher around him. “This is my room!”

“Well, sir, since you did not come to the lesson I thought I would bring the lesson to you.” Kenobi picked up the primer and opened it, flipping through the pages to search for something as he continued. “I am but your humble servant, after all, and if fairies have infested the library as Mr. Powell has informed me and the state of the shelves would suggest, it seems doubly important that we conduct your lessons in a safer locale.”

Anakin stared, speechless, as Kenobi crossed the room to him and laid the book on the bed before him with a firm tone that was at odds with the actual request he made. “Read this page to me, if you would be so kind, Lord Skywalker?”

He glanced up from Kenobi’s pale hands to his dark coat and neatly tied cravat before returning his attention to the open tome, unable to look up any higher than that for fear of meeting the piercing gaze he was sure accompanied those words.

“It has been, ah, awhile since I have read anything in classical Greek…”

“Ah, yes. I understand if you are not quite awake yet, sir,” Kenobi said with no change in his tone that suggested Anakin would be excused from the reading. “This selection is... from one of the poet Pindar’s works. The famed last few lines of his ‘Eighth Pythian Ode’.”

Anakin felt a deep relief and, after a believable pause, pretended to read the Greek letters marching across the page. His almost unnaturally sharp sense of recall about things others read to him often caused him secret doubts and confusion about himself, but not today.

Kenobi would have no way of knowing Anakin was simply repeating lines he had heard from others, and his Greek pronunciation was not the problem. _I learned how to speak it. I just never learned how to read it. So what?_

He let the blankets fall back to his stomach and picked up the book, clearing his throat and sitting with his back straight.

_“ <Man, the frail being of a day, _

_Uncertain shadow of a dream,_

_Illumined by the heavenly beam,_

_Flutters his easy life away. >” _

He resisted a defiant smirk at the way Kenobi’s head tilted in surprise and handed the book back with a magnanimous smile. “I am very appreciative of your enthusiasm for resuming my education, Captain Kenobi, but in the future please refrain from interrupting my morning routine. I will join you shortly outside for my breakfast and our first lesson.”

“Yes, sir,” he answered with a small bow, not nearly as contrite as Anakin wanted him to be.

Anakin waited for him to leave and gave a rude gesture to the door, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and pride as he threw the covers aside and snatched up the nightshirt and a dressing gown.

 

* * *

 

Outside in the hall, Ben studied the book with a puzzled frown. After the events of the previous evening, he had suspected large gaps in Skywalker’s education and had decided to test him one skill at a time.

When Skywalker had hesitated on reading Ben had, on impulse, named a different poem than the one on the page to see if Skywalker could even read enough Greek to know that was not the right poem.

After the foolishness he had seen in the library this morning, Ben had been hoping Skywalker would simply admit not being able to read ancient Greek. An educational failing in a gentleman of one-and-twenty years of age, to be sure, but not one that could not be corrected with time and effort.

Instead Skywalker had recited, clearly from memory and without any trickery possible, the exact lines Ben had asked for. _Perhaps there is hope for him_ , Ben thought with bemused admiration, turning the primer over in his hand as if it could explain what had just happened.

“Oi!”

He looked up to find the stout groomsman from the night before hurrying down the hallway toward him, waving an envelope and bellowing in a unique brogue Ben couldn’t follow.

The bedroom door behind him flew open and Skywalker leaned out, Ben relieved to note the handsome young man was at least covered this time. Yanking the knot closed on the belt of his dressing gown, Skywalker shook his head at whatever the servant was saying and held out his hand for the letter. “Just now? Has he gone already?”

Another mumble that seemed to be in the affirmative, and Skywalker let out a groan.

“Is something the matter?” Ben asked as Skywalker tore open the envelope and started reading.

“Well…” Skywalker told the paper without looking up, “I may have attended a ball several months prior at the home of a certain earl. And I may have imbibed more than is strictly necessary or required for a guest at the home of another.”

“I see,” Ben said, not seeing at all where Skywalker was going.

“And before I left, I may have said a few things about the earl regarding the treatment of his servants that he did not find charming. And we may have traded a fair amount of letters about what I said. And I may not be the best at those sorts of letters. So... here we are.”

The groomsman gave a low whistle of sympathy, and Ben realized with horror what he was talking about. “Sir, has this earl challenged you to a duel?”

“No.” Skywalker flashed a cool smile. “Not exactly. I challenged him first a few letters back. This is his letter of acceptance.”

Ben was left stunned for the second time that morning as Skywalker held up the paper, creamy and white with words marching in crisp, impeccable handwriting along the page. “The duel will be held tomorrow, and I need a second. Would you like to accompany me?”

“I… This is… Go with you? As your second?”

“Yes. Consider it in this light, Captain Kenobi. You might have the pleasure of witnessing my untimely demise,” he grinned, warming up to the dark humor of the situation. “Do not be alarmed. I assure you that you will still receive your first month’s wages if I do happen to expire. What do you say?”

Ben could only nod his mute agreement to the offer, unable to think of any proper response to such a callous self-assessment, and Skywalker gave the letter back to the servant. “Go find Three P and let him know what has happened. And tell him I’m ready for breakfast.”


	3. Confidence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! I'm finally back! My epilepsy issues, which started in the spring, are still having a big impact on my life (I'm on medical leave again right now). But! I'm with it enough mentally to start writing again on occasion. Hopefully I'll be able to update every few weeks or at least once a month. Thank you for all of your kind words! <3 They have been bright spots while we're trying to get meds and everything sorted out.

Ben waited under silver-grey skies and flurries as the estate’s carriage pulled up, the wheels of which seemed sturdy despite their alleged issue a few days before. He wondered, not for the first time, what strange little world he had entered when he had come to Sennewin Manor.

At breakfast Skywalker had come down the stairs like a shadow, clad in nearly all black, the cut of his clothing just fashionable enough to skirt the line of propriety between mourning and style. Ben had not known what to expect of his new employer on the morning of his duel, but seeing the young man dressed on the edge of London fashion was not what he had expected.

The only thing out of place was the old-fashioned knot his cravat was tied in, better suited for country lords and the rakes they ran with than one of his status.

Now Skywalker climbed inside the carriage, his overcoat shifting in the breeze, and turned to hold out a hand for Ben to join him. The young lord acted as if they were only taking a pleasure ride, eyes alight with an excitement that almost bordered on manic.

“Are you abandoning me in my hour of need, Captain?” he joked, gloved hand hanging in the air between them as flurries drifted past.

“Is this how you approach every duel?” Ben asked, unable to look away as he took Skywalker’s hand. “As if you’re taking a stroll in the Park?”

“What better way to greet the devil if I lose?” he answered, pulling Ben inside with a grip stronger than Ben had imagined it would be.

Ben settled into his seat across from Skywalker, brushing at his own greatcoat more in an attempt to shake off the pleasant, distracting warmth of Skywalker’s touch than anything else. _He is a fool, if a handsome one. A fool, and I am a fool for going along._ “I recall you telling me yesterday that this duel was to first blood? Not to the death?”

“I believe you sound disappointed, Captain.”

Ben shook his head as the carriage lurched into motion. “Why do you assume I wish you any harm, my lord?”

“It has been some time since anyone has dared to constantly frown at me like you do,” Skywalker shrugged, leaning back against the cushions and stretching his long legs out as much as the interior allowed. “One would think I was making your stay uncomfortable.”

“And one might think it is good I came along when I did, my lord. To think of your Lordship being overrun by the goblins and fairies that apparently teem in the night at Sennewin Manor, scheming as much as they can against my attempts to further your education.”

Skywalker grinned again, a dazzling flash of a smile, and Ben pointedly turned to look out at countryside rolling by.

“There is that frown again, good sir. You do not hide it as well as you reckon.”

 _I should tie that bumpkin knot you are sporting up over your spoilt mouth_ , Ben almost said, but let out a sigh instead. “How long to the meeting ground?”

“A little over two hours, halfway between here and the Earl’s country lodging. One of our mutual friends has offered his own estate garden for the event.”

“How kind,” Ben said as neutrally as he could, a strange anger beginning to stir inside him, and only glanced back over when he realized Skywalker had not spoken in some time.

The young lord was asleep, his top hat askew in his lap with his hands loosely clasped around it, unbothered by the jostling sway of the carriage or the cold seeping in around the windows every time a gust of wind rattled the trees outside. Ben studied him, mood darkening, unsure of who he was more angry with: this Earl that had goaded a young man into proposing a duel or the young man that had been stupid enough to want one.

By the time they arrived at the estate, the threat of snow seemed to have passed and there was only the soft haze of an overcast sky rising above its distinguished towers. Skywalker awoke as if on cue, yawning and stretching before running his hands through his hair. “How many are out there?”

Ben cast a disdainful eye on the colorful line of carriages stretching back from the columns of the main entrance, his breath a fog on the glass as he leaned closer. “More than a few, especially for a duel set at noon. I see that the further from the watchful eye of London we go, the more the law relaxes in these matters.”

“No,” Skywalker said with a shrug, looking out the window as he gave a quick tug on the cuffs of his gloves. “A nobleman as wealthy as the Earl could duel a man every day along Bond Street and no one would say a word. But no worry,” he said with mock seriousness. “All in attendance here know this is a simple garden party of friends and peers.”

“In February.”

“No insects of any sort to disturb one’s stroll, one must admit.”

“Or flowers.”

“Plenty of ones in lace and silk,” Skywalker said with a nod to the faces gathering in some of the lower windows.

“And are there any present today that you favor, my lord?”

“None whatsoever. But a gentleman cannot say that in public, now can he?”

Ben lifted an eyebrow as the carriage circled to the entrance and jerked to a halt. “If marriage does not agree with you, I believe we have discovered a topic we can agree on, my Lord.”

Skywalker looked back at him, surprised, but it was too late to ask another question. The driver had opened the door, letting in a gust of cold air and the welcoming cries of several fellow young men.

The smile returned to his face and he left the carriage without a backward glance, leaving Ben shaking his head before he followed behind.

 

* * *

 

The main hall inside was gloriously warm and crowded with the well-to-do, and Anakin gave charming bows to everyone he met as his boots clicked across the floor.

He was the center of attention here, all the more for the fashionable clothes he wore and the nonchalant way he moved among the party goers, some of who no doubt considered themselves superior to him. _Let them stare, let their daughters blush when they think no one is looking_ , he grinned. There were times when the silence of Sennewin Manor pressed down on him like an unseen fog, driving him mad. Riding, drinking, gambling took away some of it, but there was nothing like this.

Here everyone looked at him.

He was the talk of the party, he and the Earl. They had dueled before with pistols, once to the Earl’s satisfaction and once to Anakin’s, pointedly firing past each other, and that was how life was when one of equal standing regularly had too much pride and the other regularly too much to drink. This would be the same, Anakin was sure, and when he turned from shaking hands to find a familiar face glaring up at him he could only laugh. “My dearest Miss Naberrie, I did not imagine you to be the sort to wish to be present for the gruesome event of a duel.”

The slender brunette responded by pinching his arm when he tried to take her hand and kiss it. “You are not going to do this, cousin,” she whispered, worried tone not softening at Anakin’s mock look of pain as he clutched his sleeve. “This is stupid,” she continued, poking him in the chest as Anakin steered her to a quiet corner by one of the windows rising lofty and cool over the hall.

“You worry too much, cousin,” he shrugged, seeing Kenobi working his way through the crowd toward them with polite bows and greetings for those who introduced themselves to them. “Look, even my second is popular today. Too bad he isn’t dressed more fashionably.”

“Is this the Captain you wrote me about?” she asked. “Does he at least have some sense?”

“Let’s find out if he meets your exacting standards, my dear,” Anakin winked at her, waving Kenobi over.

“Well, he is still employed as your tutor after a few days’ time. I must say that I am not sure if that speaks for him or against him,” she grumbled, but gave Kenobi a pleasantly bland smile as he joined them. Kenobi bowed to her with the same cool distance as Anakin introduced them.

“Tell me, Captain, what do you think of duels?”

Kenobi blinked at the direct question but bowed again, keeping his voice down as she did. “If I may be honest, Miss Naberrie, I am not fond of them.”

Anakin frowned at the new warmth that suffused Padme’s tone. “Oh, I am most pleased to hear that. Do you suppose there is any possibility you could talk this overgrown boy out of today’s foolish exercise?”

He liked even less the chuckle Kenobi gave her in return. “I believe as wise and lovely a young woman as yourself would stand a much better chance than I at such an effort.”

Padme looked up at Anakin, her arm still linked into his, and gave the tiniest tug. “Anakin, the Earl has declared a change in the weapons for the duel, just before you arrived.”

“What? No pistols this time?” Anakin asked in surprise as Kenobi looked on, silent and watchful.

“No. The men say the dueling set the Earl brought has turned out to be in poor condition after the rough ride here. It is to be fencing, Anakin. Unless you would rather delay this folly... as would be your right given the weapons have changed,” she added with cautious hope.

Anakin fought back the snort he wanted to give. “No. Fencing is fine. Let the Earl think he has the advantage over me.”

“If I may ask, do you have much experience fencing, my Lord?” Kenobi asked, clearly surprised at the way Anakin brushed off this new bit of information. “It has not been in fashion for dueling for some years now.”

“Far more than a sufficient amount, Captain. I am a natural at it. That is what all of my instructors have told me,” Anakin said in a crisp tone and lift of his chin.

Without waiting for an answer, he slid free of Padme’s grip to stride off for the middle of the adoring crowd once more, seeking out the ephemeral warmth of its attention.

 

* * *

 

Miss Naberrie’s final words on the matter stayed with Ben as a much smaller party rode out to the dueling ground beyond and out of sight of the main house itself, a narrow stretch of bleak, barren land this time of year.

_“My cousin will not cancel the duel, I am certain. The only thing he runs from is good advice, Captain,” she sighed with a concerned look across the room at Skywalker downing a drink with several other lords. “I would be grateful for any guidance you could trick him into accepting.”_

_“As would I,” he answered with a dry smile, but let it fade at the concerned look in her eyes. “Is today that different from his encounters with the Earl before?”_

_“They have a common friend in Baron Palpatine, and for the sake of that shared friendship it has never seemed to be anything but an issue of honor quickly smoothed over with the bare gestures of a duel between them. But this morning feels different to me. The Earl has already ridden out to the dueling ground, in a foul mood according to some of the ladies I spoke with. And I fear that while Anakin is talented with a sword by all accounts, he cannot hope to overcome the Earl’s experience.”_

_“Is the Earl a man to hold petty grudges?”_

_“No, but he is a man to grow fearsome if he feels his honor has been slighted one too many times.”_

Ben rode alongside Skywalker, his own misgivings growing as the field came into sight. One figure, unmistakably the Earl of Serenno, stood elegant and proud against the February sky, a much bulkier but equally well-dressed man beside him.

There was no warmth in the greeting the Earl called out to them, his words as stiff as his posture.

“Good morning to you, Lord Skywalker. I see you have managed to arrive on time for once.”

“And a good morning to you, my Lord. I would not dream of keeping you waiting a moment longer than need be,” Anakin bowed from his horse. “Let us finish this and be back by the fire with good company and a whiskey in hand, shall we?”

“I would be most happy to,” the Earl replied with no more comradery than he had first spoken with.

The neutral parties had ridden with Ben and Anakin: the servants who would keep the horses out of the way, the day’s mediator, and the young man who would be serving as doctor in case the need arose. Ben focused on guiding his horse around to the side with the others, not allowing himself to glance over at the boy doing his best to look as respectable and grave as the doctor he served under likely was.

As Ben and Skywalker were putting on their coats and hats to leave for the duel, it had been explained the local doctor was away by a sickbed and had sent his apprentice in his place. The teenager was now flushed in the cold, his nerves clear in the way he fumbled with his bag after he slid off his horse.

 _This boy is several years younger than the Lord himself,_ Ben frowned as he dismounted with an easy grace, handing off his reins to the servant waiting and walking over to stand next to the massive bulk of the Earl’s second.

The man coughed into his fist and returned the respectful tilt of Kenobi’s head with an incoherent grumble between rattling breaths.

Ben maintained his impassive expression, choosing to ignore the slight, and pushed ahead with the ceremonial question seconds were expected to exchange. “Would the honored Earl of Serenno consider resolving this issue in any other way than the duel set forth?”

“No,” the man growled after a pause due to a long, hacking gasp for air more than any real consideration of the idea. “He would not.”

Ben nodded, mouth a tight line, and turned to signal the mediator the duel would continue.

Swords were presented to the combatants, and soon the mediator and doctor’s apprentice were standing among Ben and the Earl’s second. The servants waited on the other side of the appointed ground, holding the great coats and slimmer ones the duelists had worn underneath.

Skywalker cut a handsome figure, lean and confident in the way he paced back and forth, and Ben was relieved to see the easy way he held his foil and snapped it through the air in anticipation. _He does know how to handle a sword, thank God._

The lack of worry on Skywalker’s face, the light in his eyes as he ran his free hand through his hair, almost convinced Ben the young lord might win. But as his gaze shifted to the Earl, doubt began to set in again.

The Earl stood, still and watchful, as the mediator began to call out the usual instructions. There were no flourishes of his sword, no walking about. There was only a steady gaze focused on Skywalker, the kind Ben had seen on his men when waiting for a battle.

“There is to be no stabbing of the opponent when his back is presented, no use of the weapons in an unconventional manner, and no use of any weapons that were not previously agreed upon,” the host called out in a somber monotone, breath white in the air. “The duel will continue until first blood is drawn, as agreed upon by both parties.”

Skywalker came to a halt with a crunch of snow beneath his boots, drawing his sword up in a salute against his chest, and the Earl did the same.

The host clapped once, the sound muffled by his gloves.

The two men dove at each other.

 

* * *

 

Anakin circled Dooku with light steps, their blades clashing in thin, rasping hisses as they tested each other, shifting back and forth across the snow-dusted ground.

 _What sort of black mood is the old man in today, I wonder? And why?_ Anakin thought with a graceful parry and growing excitement, driving Dooku’s sword to the side and down with a confident snap. _A little dueling first to make the ride out here worth it, and then I reckon I will let him give me a scratch to assuage his pride_.

 _I suppose it would only be fair to him, as old as he’s gett--_ Instinct more than thought made him whip his blade up to catch a lunge following on the heels of a convincing feint. Stunned at the force behind it, Anakin had just enough time to see Dooku’s eyes hard and unreadable over their crossed swords before they broke apart.

The Earl strode toward him, giving him just enough time to turn around to face him before landing another cold, ringing blow across Anakin’s blade and pushing him back.

Anger bristled down Anakin’s spine, primal and incoherent at the thought of being run down like a rabbit, and he lashed out with a swift combination of his own. The clacking of their swords sank into the cold of the day all around them, the only sound as the others present watched in silence.

At the beginning of the duel Anakin had considered tossing a grin to his dour tutor and second for the day, but now he did not dare so much as glance away from Dooku as they fought back and forth across the barren field. There was no conscious effort to remember his lessons or his instructors’ advice over the years: there was no time.

What they had taught him would come to him freely or not at all, muscle memory and pure instinct sending him forward and around, looking for any gap in Dooku’s precise style that would allow him to draw only a little blood and end this unexpected turn the afternoon had taken.

They moved in sharp thrusts and swift parries for what could have been ten minutes or an hour for all Anakin could tell. Frustration welled up as he barely dodged Dooku’s attacks, his own turned aside at times as if Dooku were playing with a kitten rather than dueling someone as formidable as Anakin knew himself to be.

Anakin’s attacks grew more unconventional and aggressive as the fight went on, which to his prideful delight put Dooku more on the defensive. _I’m finally showing you, old man!_ he wanted to growl as he strode toward Dooku, forcing him back for the first time in the duel. _You will not make a fool of me any longer!_

Lost in his anger, Anakin slashed upward in a bold feint across his chest, ready to twist and bring his blade back down in a true attack that would cut Dooku along the shoulder.

He was so focused on the move it took a second to register the violent pain shooting through his sword arm.

Stumbling back, Anakin watched in horrified fascination as Dooku’s blade slid out of the ruined billow of Anakin’s sleeve. Red bloomed across the white, a vicious and growing cloud that frightened him almost more than the pain throbbing from the arm that lay hidden beneath.

_I’m bleeding. How...?_

Anakin dropped his sword, breath harsh rasps in the cold, and took an unsteady step back from Dooku. He was safe now, as safe as one could be in middle of agony, because the duel had been to first blood only.

He knew that, and yet the unreadable expression Dooku wore frightened him, the pounding of boots toward them suddenly too far and too faint. They were alone in the middle of the field, grey skies overhead and Dooku’s shadow towering tall and dark over him.

It would only take a few steps and a quick, merciless stab through the heart to kill him, and for a moment Anakin was sure Dooku would do exactly that. But then Dooku’s face was replaced with Kenobi’s, and Anakin could only give a shaky sigh of relief before the world sank into haze and pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor, overconfident Anakin!
> 
> What did you think? And thanks as always for reading! <3


	4. Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I'm finally back with another chapter. Hope you like it and let me know what you think about our two favorite idiots. <3

Ben was running before he knew it, the hat he had taken off left somewhere behind him, boots crunching through the thin ice and snow toward the two figures alone on the field. He knew what had happened by the crumpling of Skywalker’s shoulders, even before he dropped his sword.

_He’s hurt. Badly._

He reached Skywalker in just enough time to catch him as his knees buckled, lowering them both with a rough grunt to the ground. Skywalker rolled away from him onto his back in the snow, gasping in pain and blue eyes wide at the gash along his arm.

“Doctor!” Ben shouted without looking up, ripping the rest of Skywalker’s sleeve open. Blood clung to his fingers, the faint warmth of it gone a second later, and Ben looked up to call out again when the apprentice dropped down next to him.

“What… I don’t…” Skywalker stared at the wound, breath harsh white in the air. “It hurts…”

“I know, my lord,” Ben said, stripping off his own coat and balling it up as he spoke in a voice much calmer than he felt. “The doctor is here.”

The cold bit through Ben less than the sight of the young apprentice panicked and fumbling with the latch on the bag he had brought. Jaw tight, Ben lifted Skywalker’s arm as gently as he could, bringing another cry of pain, and rested his bare arm on the wadded bulk of the coat.

“Why are you doing that?” someone asked from a few feet away, a loose ring of men forming around them.

“He is keeping the wound elevated. Less blood loss,” came the answer from the Earl in his unreadable baritone. “I apologize for this. Let the servants stay to assist. The rest of us shall ride back and tell the others what has happened and secure a quiet place for the doctor to attend to his Lordship.”

Ben barely heard them ride away, glaring in frustration at the timid, awkward way the apprentice wound a roll of gauze around Skywalker’s arm and the blood seeping through without pause.

“I’m sorry,” the young man whispered so the servants standing at a polite distance wouldn’t hear. He tied off the knot and started on another roll of cotton, voice shaking. “I haven’t actually… I mean I’ve just helped with small things so far, little things, and he’s… it’s…”

“May I help?” Ben asked, already reaching for the bag.

“Yes, please. I just… I just don’t think I packed any more bandages.” He looked up, face pale, as he tied the last bit hurriedly around Skywalker’s arm. “I thought it would be something small. The doctor said that’s all this sort of thing ever ended up with, just scratches, and… and…”

Skywalker gave another weak cry below them, arm twitching on Ben’s coat, red greedy and dark through the clumsy lines of white.

“I understand,” Ben said quietly and as calmly as he could. “Please, sir, I will get him to the house if you will go prepare what you need.”

“Yes. Yes, I should do that. Thank you.” The boy stood with a clumsy grab at his bag and hurried over to the closest horse.

He was already forgotten, just another sound receding, as Ben looked down at Skywalker. He didn’t notice the hard ground beneath him or the wetness of the snow beginning to seep in at the knees of his pants. All he could see was the blood now lying thick on the haphazard bandages wound around Skywalker’s arm.

Skywalker fixed him with a puzzled, dazed stare at what he did next: Ben reached up with bloody fingers and began to tug at the throat of his own cravat.

“What…”

“Quiet.” Ben yanked the knot loose and pulled it off with a hiss of fabric, white piling in his lap. “Hold still.”

A wash of bitter cold swept in through his open collar as he began to tie the fabric around Skywalker’s arm in tight, firm loops. Skywalker hissed in pain each time the cloth wound around, but the blood began to disappear for a precious few more seconds each time.

Ben tied the knot off, working as quickly as he could in a race against the injury. “What horses are left?”

When no answer came, he snapped his gaze up to the gaping servants and the horses next to them. “That one. The grey one. Bring him here.” _He’s big enough he should be able to carry us the little way back to the house._

“Not riding,” Skywalker muttered to himself, still on his back and his words beginning to slur. “Hurts. Not riding.”

“The hell you’re not, my lord,” Ben said as one man led the horse closer. “We don’t have the time to wait for them to get a cart out here. Get up.”

Skywalker closed his eyes, face pale. “No. I’m… fine… just let me rest a bit.”

Ben’s fists curled at his side, and for a moment he wished the servants weren’t there so he could just slap Skywalker back to full consciousness. But there had been more than one way to get a man on his feet back during the war, and it took only a moment for the right words to come to him.

He leaned down to Skywalker and whispered with as much calculated disdain as he could muster, fear for the young lord carefully hidden. “I see, my lord. Well if all you can do is look pretty, I suppose lying in the dirt is as good a place as any.”

Skywalker’s eyes snapped open to fix Ben with a glare of pure fury.

 _Good. Get angry._ “Still only pretty. Shall I carry you back in my arms, my little bride?”

Skywalker sat up with a growl, teeth clenched. “Fuck... you,” he managed, each word a puff of white air as he rolled over to crouch with his good hand on the ground.

Ben stood and opened his mouth, ready to goad Skywalker until he at least rose up to a kneel. And closed it in surprise as Skywalker forced himself to his feet.

“Fuck you… Captain… and fuck—”

Skywalker swayed and Ben caught him mid-stumble, passing him to the servants. They helped Skywalker up as the lord awkwardly slid his boot into the stirrup and fumbled with his good arm for the saddle above him.

It was not the most elegant of mounts Ben had ever seen, but Skywalker came to sit atop the saddle and stayed there, a little unsteady but conscious, his anger clearly keeping him that way. His hair drifted askew in the wind, face flushed and blue eyes hard on the ground.

 _Thank God._ With a few curses of his own added to Skywalker’s breathless stream of them, Ben threw himself up behind Skywalker and took the reins from the servant below.

The large horse grunted and shifted under the unusual load but did no more than that as the servants wadded Ben’s coat against Skywalker’s lap to give him something to rest his injured arm on. Relief came to Ben, faint but there nonetheless, as Skywalker remained balanced in the saddle despite the jostling and pain evident in his quick, shallow breaths. _Still upright even like this. Stubborn bastard, aren’t you?_

“Go ahead,” Ben told the men with a frown of concentration as he steered the horse back around in the direction of the house, Skywalker’s back pressed to his chest. “Our grey friend seems willing enough to carry the two of us and it’s a short ride back. Make sure a room has been cleared and the apprentice is ready for us. Hurry!”

 

* * *

 

Anakin awoke in a pleasant, hazy wash of colors, the world swaying this way and that into view. Being so drunk he couldn’t stand or even place where he was was nothing new, and he sighed happily as he realized he was in a soft bed with soft covers.

 _So far so good,_ he grinned, trying to sit up but only managing to loll his head to the left. He wasn’t in his own room from the unfamiliar paintings and wainscotting rising up around him in the dark, but the fire burning nearby was warm and he couldn’t argue. _Must be after a party… Am I at a friend’s house? I don’t think I am..._

An older, handsome man was sitting in a chair by the fire, just out of reach and reading a book. “Am I... at your house, sir?” Anakin asked with a smile, words dazed and slow as he concentrated on putting a sentence together. _I guess that would explain why I have no shirt on. Or… or pants, I think. Must have been a better party than usual. Too bad I can’t remember it..._

 _But I don’t mind_ , he thought to himself with another lazy grin, world holding its balance just enough he could focus on the lovely way the shadows fell across the man’s face and shoulders. _I don’t mind at all._

The man closed the book and stood, an eyebrow raised and gentle relief in his voice as he came over to the bed. “No, you are not. I am glad you’ve finally woken up, though.”

“Are you?” Anakin smiled invitingly, beginning a long and languid stretch that lasted half a second.

“Ow!” He glared down at himself, understanding through his drunkenness something was preventing him from sitting up or moving one arm. “Ow,” he muttered again, puzzled as he studied the heavy lump of white holding his right arm down. “That’s strange.”

The man sat carefully on the bed next to him, his hand a pleasant, cool weight on Anakin’s forehead and his voice low and soothing. “Still no fever at this point, my lord. That’s a good sign.”

_That voice is familiar._

It took another long moment of deep thought before recognition came, followed by an almost giddy annoyance. _It’s the captain. Kenobi. He’s a terrible tutor. Yes. Terrible. Because… because tutors aren’t supposed to be so… attractive. Yes. That’s it. Are they?_

 _No. Not. Not at all_ , he decided. _Not fair._

“It’s not fair,” Anakin wondered at the sight of him, caught between petulance and another smile as he studied the fine, elegant lines of his face. “Not fair, you know.”

“That you have no fever?” Kenobi said, with what Anakin could swear was a hint of fondness in the dry words. “I didn’t think it possible to give a man too much whisky for pain.”

“No…” Anakin frowned to the crackling of the fire behind them. “I mean… it’s not fair… you...”

He slowly lifted the hand that wasn’t wrapped up to brush his fingers against Kenobi’s jaw, and the words came to him from somewhere in the lush cloud he drifted in. “Not fair… you’re so handsome.”

A blush stole across Kenobi’s face, and Anakin found his mind wandering again, this time to the roses that tumbled across the Sennewin estate at the height of summer. “And pink.” He gave a soft laugh, reaching up higher to touch Kenobi’s cheek. “Handsome and pink…”

Kenobi froze, abruptly standing up out of reach. “Now I know you’ve had too much, my lord.”

“No. Why’d… why’d you do that?” Anakin let his hand fall back his stomach in a pout, breath hitching in another gasp of surprise at the dull pain it brought. “Ow,” he mumbled, dimly aware he’d bumped against the bulk of his right arm. “What is that?”

“That is a wound, my lord, you sustained earlier today,” Kenobi sighed, sitting down once again after a moment. He reached over to move Anakin’s good arm away from the other, hands light on Anakin’s skin.

Surprise brought a moment of clarity as Kenobi began to smooth the covers and tuck them in closer around him. _I didn’t know he could be gentle._

Anakin did his best to focus on the tenderness in Kenobi’s movements, fascinated. Gentleness wasn’t something he had expected an aloof man like the Captain to be capable of, and he was vaguely disappointed when Kenobi sat back.

“I didn’t memorize enough... stanzas… or dates… or something today, did I?” Anakin tried to poke at what he now dimly understood to be bandages, only to have Kenobi firmly but kindly move his hand back to his side. “E tu, brute?”

“No, I am not the one who did that to you.” Coldness crept into Kenobi’s voice, sharp and icy, and Anakin was deeply, drunkenly relieved that it didn’t seem to be aimed at him. An old nursery rhyme came to him, and he sang in an unsteady whisper. “Up and down and over, through the new green clover…”

Kenobi pinched the bridge of his nose at the expectant way Anakin looked at him, and took up the last lines. “... the rabbit runs and runs, on his way to Dover,” he finished with a dry patience, but the worst of the anger in his eyes faded at the children’s song.

“I reckon he should,” Anakin nodded as best he could given the continuing tilting of the world, inordinately pleased with himself at how Kenobi’s shoulders relaxed. “I think you’d like to skin him.”

“Hmm,” Kenobi said, folding his arms. “Perhaps. But now it’s time for you to sleep, my lord. We don’t want to wear you out. We’ll try food in the morning.”

Anakin opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it again. Kenobi-- _too far away and handsome and pink--_ was sitting down in the chair by the fire, and at the mention of rest Anakin felt a pleasant exhaustion rise up. He mumbled a good night into the pillow, drifting down and away from the orange glow of the fire and the man beside it watching him with quiet concern.


End file.
